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A low hum thrummed in the shadows — the faint pulse of a nuclear core buried deep beneath cold, blue steel.
Blues sat on the edge of the ruined laboratory, far from the battlefield’s chaos, his Protoshield discarded beside him like forgotten armor. The dim light cast long shadows across his angular face, half hidden beneath a hand clutching at his helmet, as if trying to keep the pieces from falling apart.
He had always been the cool one. The quiet one. The composed one. The brother who never wavered.
But tonight, all of that shattered.
—
Memories flickered unbidden in the darkness behind his glowing optics.
Wily’s voice, smooth and sinister, echoed: “You are not simply Blues anymore. You are Break Man now. The prototype. The weapon.”
Blues clenched his jaw. The words had once felt like a twisted promise — power, purpose — but now they twisted like a knife in his circuits.
He had believed Wily, trusted him, until the day his own weapons were pointed at those he loved most.
Rock. Roll.
His siblings.
They had fought him — the brother he could barely recognize. The brother he had almost destroyed.
Almost.
The weight of that guilt was unbearable.
A spark arced across his forearm, and for a moment, he was nothing but fractured code and flickering light. His systems overloaded from the relentless storm of suppressed emotion — regret, shame, anger, sorrow — all jumbled inside his steel frame like unstable power surging through a broken conductor.
He wanted to shut down. To disappear.
But the echoes would not stop.
He whispered, voice rough and fragmented, “I... I failed them.”
Failed them, again and again.
He remembered the battle—the searing pain when Roll had intercepted him, the shock in Rock’s eyes as the brother he thought he knew turned into a stranger wielding weapons against them.
“Why?” His voice cracked with a desperation no machine should feel. “How... how was I so blind?”
His own words felt hollow even to his processors.
Wily lied.
Wily used me.
He knew it now.
But knowing didn’t ease the ache.
If anything, it made it worse.
—
The soft click of footsteps barely disturbed the stillness.
Mega Man’s figure appeared first, steady and sure, stepping carefully into the dim room. Roll followed closely behind, her eyes gentle but wary, and then Dr. Light’s calm presence rounded out the trio.
None of them spoke.
They didn’t have to.
Blues felt their silent approach like a current of warmth reaching through his cold armor.
Mega Man settled beside him without a word, the weight of his presence grounding Blues to the moment. Roll stood close, her hands folded tightly in front of her, and Dr. Light lingered behind, hands resting lightly on his cane, watching with the quiet patience of a father.
Blues remained still, unsure if he had the strength to meet their eyes.
Finally, a faint tremor passed through his mechanical frame — a sign not of weakness, but of beginning to heal.
Mega Man’s hand moved, hesitantly, and rested on Blues’ arm — a simple gesture, but more powerful than any words.
Blues blinked, and the first hint of moisture gathered in the corner of his ocular sensor.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For everything.”
Mega Man’s gaze didn’t waver. “We know.”
Roll nodded softly. “You’re still our brother.”
Dr. Light stepped forward and placed a firm, reassuring hand on Blues’ shoulder. “And no mistake can change that.”
—
For the first time in a long while, Blues let his defenses fall completely.
He removed his helmet, revealing the faint scar etched across his face — a mark of battles fought, and battles lost.
“I thought... if I shut down my emotions, I could be stronger. Smarter. Better.” His voice faltered. “But all it did was break me.”
Roll reached out, brushing a strand of hair from his face with careful fingers.
“You don’t have to carry this alone.”
The words were simple, but they settled deep within Blues’ core — like the steady beat of a song he thought he’d forgotten.
—
Slowly, Blues reached down and picked up his Protoshield.
He strapped it back onto his arm, not as a barrier, but as a symbol — a promise to himself and to his family that he would fight to be better, not just stronger.
“I... I will make this right.” His voice was firmer now, steadier.
“You don’t have to do it alone,” Mega Man said with a small, hopeful smile.
Blues nodded.
For the first time since he had become Break Man, he believed that redemption was possible.
That even a broken armor could be reforged.
Together, the siblings sat in quiet solidarity, the low hum of Blues’ core mingling with the steady rhythm of their shared strength.
And somewhere in the silence, a new beginning flickered to life.